Denethor lifted a hand, turned to him. Boromir loved Faramir; but, close, he would vie with himself; far, he could raise a following. Rohan was out of the question. So was Pelargir.

Only one place for a younger brother to go.

"Belfalas," he said, where both had ties and quelling uprising would be easy, should need arise.

IV.He waited for Boromir to return from Imladris, but his son never came. He set camp, instead, beyond the Rammas and ignored all summons. In this Denethor read much, but men flocked to him daily, and he knew to tread carefully if there was still hope of salvaging a future.

So, swallowing pride, and fear, he rode to camp where an aide had him wait outside Boromir's tent.

"Father!" he heard when ushered in. "Preparations are underway."

"For what?"

"Victory!"

"Without guidance?"

"Not all wisdom comes from books."

"To defeat Sauron you need certain knowledge I can provide."

"Not anymore."

V.The city is aflame with one cry: "The King has returned to Minas Tirith!"

Even without Mithrandir's presence shadowing all, he knows who it is-- who it has to be. He has seen this nightmare for years; he has been his life's ruin.

After already taking all that mattered but Denethor's power, the Eagle has finally come for that. What now? Stalling for proof would be deemed dishonor; surrendering, unthinkable.

Alas, that such should be his fate! Yet duty fulfilled is its own reward and he has never served for praise.